Monday, April 30, 2012


Without going into details, my husband recently had a very upsetting conversation with someone with whom he is close and for whom he has done a great deal, including supporting him financially.

Over the years he has made huge allowances, bitten his tongue, forgiven and I suppose I thought he would continue doing this forever. There was a situation a few years ago where he had had enough and he told that person that he wasn't going to accept his accusations and his sharp tongue but over time they got over that fairly well. They were never as close but they weren't distanced either.

Very recently, there was another very difficult telephone conversation. The other person rang railing for a fight. In fact, he rang to ask a favour, if you can believe it, but instead of simply asking nicely (and my husband would have given him what he wanted willingly) he was accusatory and implied that my husband was holding back information. He seems to think, as well, that my husband has control over how a particular company in which he is invested fares, when he has no control over it whatsoever. The whole tone of the conversation was very confrontational.

It's not something that my husband hasn't lived through before with this person but for some reason it was yesterday that he chose to snap. He told the person that he wasn't ever going to allow him to speak to him like that ever again and he told him a few home truths about his attitude and his behaviour. It was not before time, I assure you.

We didn't sleep well because both of us loathe upset  and today as we debriefed a little in the car I said,

"You felt that he didn't trust you and that your integrity was being questioned."

I could see him thinking about that.

"Yes! I felt that my self had been attacked."

We can't and should not tolerate that. There must be trust and a strong belief in the integrity of oneself. It is perfectly right that we should be angry if this is compromised when our intentions are good and we only mean well. If that should occur, we need to hear an apology because when something becomes this personal, a line has been crossed and it must very definitely be put right if we want to heal that relationship.

In a power exchange, trust really is everything. I feel very confident in saying that now and nothing really good will happen until that trust is water tight. Sometimes, you have to step away to see that with open and clear eyes.

Saturday, April 28, 2012


When you pick a puppy from the litter or when a child is born, right then you have pretty much all the information you need about the temperament of that animal or child. Our male dog desperately needs regular doses of love and attention and he has an 'almost human' aspect about him. He's needy and he's the one that will whine when I leave them tied outside a store for a minute or two. The female, his sister, is much more independent. She has patience and she defers to her brother always. His appetite is voracious and he's happy to steal her food but in all other ways he's very doting and caring about her. Most of these characteristics were evident the moment we laid eyes on them. They were the last two of the litter and though we came for one dog, of course we went home with both of them

My children's temperaments were discernible immediately. My first son was active even inside me and he came out biting at the bit to get on with life. He was sweet from day one and this is how he has remained: active and sweet; a gorgeous, gorgeous boy; a born leader. My daughter was clearly independent. Impossibly late to be born (but amazingly the obstetrician allowed me to wait to give birth to her naturally) she was independent, feisty, stubborn yet very sweet from day one. She has remained just so.

My third child is a mellow child; loving; happy; specific in his needs and interests from the get go and so he has remained. He persists and lives life according to his own creed; a delicious sense of humor and fun was and remains present. My last child was always particular and always sweetness and light. He needed all things done his way but over time I see him adjusting and the flexibility increasing as he moves in and out of groups. He is a hugger; always considerate; always loving; deeply creative and smart. So, I have been very lucky: four beautiful, loving children.

My daughter has the temperament of her father. What I mean is that she has a trait of his that needed some adjustment. Just like my husband, she has a temper and she likes things done her way. They clash. What a surprise! Over the years, they have had some real ding dongs. They had a 'blue' on our old boat a few years back and the wind was in such a direction that I could hear every word from the house. If someone had asked if I knew who they were I would have denied any knowledge of either of them.

Since she has been living with us over the past few months, the environment has been fairly peaceful. For one thing, she's completely immersed in her new boyfriend and for another, she's really trying to be very sweet to her father; to approach him with caution and to use a great deal of tact and finesse when interacting with him.

Unfortunately, yesterday morning there was a blow out. Let me preface my comments by saying that my goal in life is to keep the family functioning on a even keel. I do lots of tasks to ensure that my husband need not get involved. He'd be lucky to tell you where items in the kitchen are, or how to fill a lunch box and so on because he is not involved and never has been involved in this sort of minutiae. This has worked and worked very nicely.

Yesterday morning was my last day to leave the house by 6.10 am for my special yoga breathing session in the park in the city. My son needed to be at school by 7.20 for a rehearsal and my daughter generously offered to take him before she had to be at her place of employment associated with the post-graduate work she is undertaking. I'd told my son his lunchbox would be packed. However, my husband, in his infinite wisdom decided to work right throughout the night and was having an early snack as I was about to make the sandwich.

"No. No. I'll do that. You get going or you'll be late."

"Are you sure?"

"I can make a sandwich. Go."

I left, with apprehension. The story goes like this, and is a compilation of my husband's and my daughter's version. She could see her brother was about to be late and seeing that my husband was preoccupied said that if he hadn't made the lunch they'd have to go without it. My husband, aware that he had become distracted yet again and not made the sandwich felt aberrant about that and somewhere in there they snarled words at one another and the heat and tension rose until she left for work upset and he remained upset, telling me about her temper when I arrived home.

Clever girl that I am, I said very little and merely listened. I've learned my lesson from past experiences about making judgements over their behavior. But, when my daughter came home that afternoon she wanted to talk and she was clearly still upset by it.

"I've been trying so hard with him but he is just so difficult..."

"I think you hit the 'guilty' button and once that is hit he says things that he doesn't mean. He gets defensive. You know this. You know he won't change."

"I told you that. Remember in the past, I told you that he wouldn't change when you were upset."

I smiled. "Yes, Yes you did. And, you were right. I've accepted him. I've even embraced him. He's a wonderful man with a temper. That is all there is to that."

Now, she smiled.  Just before she went off to her party that evening she found him and came and hugged him. Neither made any effort to say "sorry" both acknowledging it was better to let it go. And, that's fine.

There was one previous clash a month or so ago and that time she went to her boyfriend for an ear.

"You'll never win," he told her.

She told me that and I told her that he was clearly insightful. He was very right.

At first, I wasn't sure about this boy of hers. He definitely needed some rough edges rubbed off him but that is happening very nicely now. Even tempered and calm, he is a fine complement for her. She's definitely a lot calmer since she met him and she's a lot happier now that we have embraced him and he has embraced us, too.

I think that there can only be one person with a temper in any union; only one emotional meatball in the spaghetti. The other needs to have steadiness and an ethereal quality about them if at all possible.

That's when our marriage became so much better too; when I not only accepted that my husband's temper was here to stay but I embraced it. He is a lovely, lovely man with a temper and he probably came out of the womb that way. I may not always manage to remain level headed but then again I'm human and not an angel.

I recently asked my oldest son (my husband's number 1 fan) if he thought Dad could ever find another woman to live with him if something happened to me...

"No way, Mum. You're the one in 10 million."

I told you he was sweet!   

Thursday, April 26, 2012

This life

I love my husband profoundly, deeply, absolutely, eternally and with passion. I want that to be absolutely clear. I can't imagine life without him. We fit together very well in every way: our bodies, our minds, our world view, our morality; everything.

Now that I have made that clear let me say that I can't imagine anything in this world more erotic, more fulfilling or more arousing than if my husband had had the mindset of an owner from the first day that we knew one another.

In some ways, he did have the mindset of an owner. I was always his girl. We were always a team. He expected that I'd follow him and that he'd have the ultimate decision making powers. That was all in place early on.

But, the business of training a girl just wasn't on the radar. For one thing, we were young and for another he had no yearning or natural desire to lead me to that life. He displayed no sadistic yearning and since I kept my masochistic desires well within me, he had no sense that anything was missing from my life.

I am prepared to say that there have been probably three occasions, perhaps more, when I have told him of my love and devotion but that I felt in some way that there was something missing, as if there was this need within me that wasn't being addressed.

In the early years, I could give him little detail about this feeling except that I felt I needed something more intense than we had. He loved me passionately and he always tried to allay my concern. He said that we belonged together and that we would always be together. I would try to forget about the longings and get on with enjoying life, but the feeling would return that in some way a part of me was not alive.

Eventually, I told him more about what I needed and he didn't hesitate to change for me as much as he possibly could. He read material and learned about the sort of dominance that I craved and more and more, I began to feel a whole human being; someone who was living according to their nature.

The truth is that some of the desires I told him about made him feel uncomfortable; or perhaps that I wasn't sure what I really wanted; the old story that 'you think you want it but when you get it you won't like it'. It was before children on a trip to Europe and in a town on the border of Switzerland and France (Chamonix, to be exact) that I first told him some things.

I can't remember how or when I told him about my spanking craving, or perhaps I didn't tell him and he gathered that to be the case from little hints here and there. I just can't reconstruct that period of time. What I do know is that he left the hotel room and when he returned it was with a switch. I was beside myself with lust and somewhere in that love making I did call out, "Please...please...take me up the ass." He didn't think I really meant it. He couldn't imagine that I could possibly mean it and it wasn't until two decades later (at least) that I assured him that I did definitely want that.

It wouldn't work for him to be the sort of dominant that I read about and to some extent crave in my fantasies and in my ideal world within my head. Our way of life has more of an ease to it than that. Over time, I have adapted to accept him as someone who has very high expectations of my responses to him. I no longer questions his decisions on any level or even attempt to answer without a respectful response (unless it is said in jest, at times). Our relationship is much more that of an owner/owned girl in many respects. It is all a part of me and him now and how we operate together.

But, I'd be lying if I said that life didn't shortchange  me there for a little bit. I would have loved to experience the full Monty. I would have loved to have experienced the fullness of having met a man  so dominant in his nature and with a hint of sadism that he pushed me and made me grow according to his own needs. Perhaps he wanted to mark me or insist on nipple rings or a small tattoo. Or, perhaps he insisted that I wear only certain clothes of which he approved, or that he told the hairdresser how my hair was to be worn, or how long my fingernails were to be. Perhaps, he had me perform a certain ritual each day or had me call him at a certain time each day with my thoughts. Perhaps he monitored what I ate or how often I exercised or what  I did with my time. All or any of this would have been insisted upon and demanded regardless of what I had to say about it.

I imagine that he wanted to educate me. He'd have me read certain books and he'd want me to express my feelings about them to him. He'd want me to achieve something for myself in this world and to this end he'd insist that I not put myself down, that I take myself seriously and that I have the courage to go out there and try. He'd believe in me completely and insist that I make use of my god-given skills to have the pleasure of succeeding by using them. He'd be stern about that and any efforts to put myself down would be met with a stern rebuke.

He would take me and use me in line with his own desires and my connection to him would mean that I wouldn't hesitate to oblige. If this meant accepting the pain he offered, this would be part of my life and it would be an expression of our love and my acceptance of him as my owner. I know I would flourish in this life because on the occasions that my husband has done this, I've experienced a heavenly rush of endorphins; a profound sense of adoration and happiness that I have experienced in no other way.

In my life, I've met his needs of a wife and he has now met all my needs of a husband. But in an ideal world, from the very first day my life would have focused around his life in every conceivable way, thereby feeding my intensely experienced desires. I would have molded into him and accepted his training of me as the richest and most prized of gifts and never known what it felt like to feel a hole in my heart; a desperate longing for I knew not what.

Loving me as he does, he wanted me to have what I so richly craved and concessions were made to grant me the gift of experiencing that sort of training; to know what it was to have a dress code formulated; to be trained to respond as an owned girl should. He knew that I was his well enough to allow me to experience the fulfillment of this need in a safe and respectable way and with a man I trusted and who has my trust to this day. His confidence in himself and in me and in our union is abundant and made that possible.

I write in this Internet space in some respects as an interloper. I come to this life late and I come to it in as complete a way as I can but with the knowledge that I will never know the life that some girls have. I am not jealous, but I am in awe.Yet, the pleasures I have experienced are entirely whole and complete. I have never been happier than in the past five years; never believed that I might have the opportunity to be this happy. If I were to die in my sleep tonight, the truth would be that I have lived completely; happily and according to my purpose.

Tuesday, April 24, 2012


I read a few blogs this morning whilst having my breakfast. There were some lovely entries around the topic of the bottom sliding into that relaxed, 'no-thinki' state of mind and the top taking that opportunity to either ask questions that might reveal more about her state of mind or push that state into an even more erotic zone.

It's to that relaxed 'no-thinki' state that I go when using larger anal plugs. It's containing, calming and settling to be sure but as well, it's very erotic and it is a space in the mind where virtually all inhibitions are removed.

In that state, I can be asked a lot of questions. The answers are the type of answers I'm not likely to give at any other time and on the very odd occasion, I have been censured for my responses. It's all very well to get the girl to be open to anything, but when she reveals just how slutty her mind is capable of being, there can be a slight concern there in a man's mind, I think. Rather marvellous to have the girl so free to express herself but slightly daunting to realize that women really can conjure scenes of gang bangs and going to dark caves and being aroused by a man's body; potentially any man's body, not just his body. Rather disconcerting indeed to realize that a woman's brain may imagine that not all scenarios have him in them but rather a faceless stranger.

Even in this state, a woman hears the rebuke in the words and she quickly pulls back. Perhaps it is best to hold onto thoughts for herself, she thinks; to hold something back...

And yet the allure of being in the company of a woman with all her defenses down is quite irresistible and intoxicating for some men, it seems to me. There's no business suit and appointment book here; no pretty lingerie behind which she can pretend she is the perfect angel. The slut is revealed. Her mind is about pure pleasure; having her body used and then used again. Bring it on. See who outdoes who.

When she returns to her everyday state of mind and he has the opportunity to consider what she has revealed, I have to think his mind goes to all and any ways to make her his. Men talking of enjoying the marks they make because it is one more opportunity to say, "See those marks. Only I can make those marks. No other man would dare to touch this woman when he sees that I left those marks on her."  She's mine, he says to himself.

The silly thing is that a woman like me is likely to reveal herself in this way to no more than one, perhaps two and possibly three men in her lifetime. I'd take a guess that the vast majority of women leave this earth having told no-one about the details of their inner life. It's a huge compliment to be trusted in this way by a woman and take it from me, no matter how many gang bangs she can conjure in her mind, it is in her mind (and not down at the local football club) that those thoughts will stay.

Monday, April 23, 2012


For the past few months a condition has crept up on me and reluctantly I took myself off to the doctor who ordered an ultrasound that showed no indication of what might be causing my pain. Since then, I narrowed it down to some sort of pain associated with the digestive tract.

When the pain was at its worst I happily eliminated alcohol, caffeine and sweet foods and drank a lot of water and it seemed to me that the high point of the crisis had now taken place. One evening was so excruciating I thought that I must be passing a kidney stone but the doctor was skeptical that my diagnosis was correct and that's when he ordered the ultrasound.

 As well, I think we can trick our minds to accept pain as a matter of course and bit by bit I was adding suspect foods back into my diet: a glass of wine here and a cup of tea there. The pain wasn't that bad.

 If I had some candy or a few little Cadbury eggs from Easter I felt immediately ill and eventually I just had to accept the fact that like thousands of other schmucks, I had IBS (my diagnosis again, so the jury's out but apart from the fact that my appendix might be about to burst, this seems the logical conclusion).

What a containing experience this is! If the condition is to be managed successfully thought needs to go into nearly everything eaten. Caffeine and wine are out as are candy and chocolate and sweet foods. Red meat needs to be limited and pretty much all fats need to be severely reduced so that the cramping doesn't set in. Portions need to be small and foods need to be checked for fructose. It really is a crushing bore.

On the other hand, this situation is an opportunity: an opportunity to slow down; to keep my anxiety levels right down; to make an art form out of patience and to be more accepting that what is, is. It's an opportunity to be mindful of what I put in my mouth and to ensure that nothing gets into my body that isn't good for my body. It is an opportunity to just accept. This isn't necessarily a limitation on my life but an opportunity to live a better life.

I am a healthy person. Apparently, I'm a bit of an aberration not being on any medication whatsoever at my age and I'd like to keep it that way. It was just a matter of time before something happened whereby I would have to accept that I am not as young as I used to be and that modifications would have to be made. I have to say that it sucks that I can't have a glass of wine; one of life's finest pleasures but it is a small price to pay for health.

We spend a lot of time swimming against the tide in life, trying to control every last thing but we just don't know what tomorrow will bring; good or bad. If we can truly embrace that 'everything is okay', even if there are little things out of place, I truly think we can better make space for opportunity. It's all about having a positive state of mind and remaining joyful.

Sunday, April 22, 2012

Dreams, threats and electric cords

My husband rarely shares his dreams with me in great detail, although I do know when he is dreaming usually because he will inadvertently move or call out and I know that he is chasing off a robber or trying to save us from a calamity or whatever. This morning he wanted to tell me about what he had dreamed. Apparently, he had been whipping me with an electric cord and it had left incredible markings, he said, and I had been crying out begging him to stop. I acknowledged the dream but I didn't ask any questions because I had a sense of what the dream had done to his state of mind.

Unsurprisingly, he soon blindfolded me and the games began. Just before the blindfold went on I took note of the time - right on 9am. And, when he took the blindfold off I noted that it was 12.25. Some dream, huh?

In the midst of such play I am never cheeky. It just wouldn't make sense to be cheeky when one is tied to all four bedposts, or is wearing a tight, tight corset and nothing else, or is being flogged with a flogger, or penetrated with various paraphernalia or having one's breasts sucked or twisted. I simply burrow deep down into a space in my mind where I have no say and what happens, happens.

It was at the 11.30 am mark that I dared to ask if I may know the time. Two and half hours. I had thought it much closer to three hours. I was aware that my patience was starting to wear thin but a word or two out of place, even at the end of a play session spoils it entirely for  him (and thus me) and I kept in my dumdum place through to the very last moment when the blind fold came off. (At one point I asked if the rope around my wrists could please be loosened and another time further down the track I asked if I may please be released from my corset because my efforts to procure enough oxygen felt thwarted, but each time I was extremely polite and patient so no problem there.)

When he had taken off the blindfold and I was starting to rub my eyes to acclimatize to the light he issued a warning. I was not to rebel in any way just because I had been contained all morning. Not a word of cheekiness was to pass my lips all day or I'd find an "electric cord" wrapped around my bum. Do you know, even after all that I almost said, "But, you don't have an electric cord" when I remembered that the iron's electric cord had an issue last year and thinking one day that he would fix it, he kept it in the garage. I recall seeing it there recently and in the nick of time I stopped myself from saying anything. The fun of saying the cheeky comment wasn't worth the risk that his dream was still in his mind. I haven't ever been whipped with such a thing but judging from what happened in the dream, it has a sting that I don't think I want.

If a threat is to be believed and there is a chance it will be carried out, threats can indeed modify a girl's behavior. It doesn't always work, mind you. I've allowed temptation to take me to the dark side before but I have always regretted it; always given myself a talking to as to why I can't push the words back down. Yet, I think I am definitely improving. It's almost time for bed, and I have been an angel all day. There is hope for me yet!

Saturday, April 21, 2012

Anal training and agitation

I spent Friday night on my own. Well, first there were three people plus me to feed and finally just one person left in the house, apart from myself. I stayed up later than I meant to and the alarm went off at 5.30 am because I had forgotten to turn it off. I slept through a couple more hours but when I awoke I felt unrested.

The phone rang just before 9 am this Saturday morning with my husband asking a question. I was polite but not really chatty and he said to me, "You sound agitated, girl." I should know better than to bite at that piece of bait but alas I said, "Well, it's a bit annoying that you called me to ask this question. You could easily have woken me and I am very short of sleep."

He didn't like that and most probably because it was true. It was a bit thoughtless and his question was a bit obsessive. I didn't say any of that. I just stayed silent while I got a telling off. It raised my agitation and I did a few things after the call to try to rid myself of that feeling but it wasn't entirely successful. I remained agitated. I am still a little agitated.

I sympathize with him now that I think what his call may have really been about. Perhaps he called me to get a little relief from the visit with his father and I wasn't appropriately receptive to that possibility. His father now lives alone and his conversation tends to be rather negative and depressing now. Too much newspaper reading, radio listening and television watching has him thinking that the media's presentation of life is life. He talks about the doom and gloom as if that is all there is and as much as we love someone that can be hard to be around.

The definition of agitation is "an emotional state of excitement or restlessness." I am not really excited; more restless. I ask myself why this should be so. Hmmmm Well, nothing is really wrong per se except that I have a very strong desire to experience some sort of containment. It is what kept me up late; trying to read something or write something that would satisfy that need. The fantasies keep rolling through my head and there is no real way at this time to feed that desire. I think that's what is going on.

I could speak to the fact that when I am agitated I need to move; to do; to achieve. I am in the process of changing sheets and sorting the house because I am hoping that once I achieve something - a clean and tidy house at least, I will feel settled. It can't possibly hurt.

And, I went outside to the garden and experienced the beautiful morning. That helped but the work was inside so inside I came. Not to mention that I have a deadline; a story that is hanging over my head and the next week's module has to be done too. And, I have to go to the menders to fetch the school pants for Monday. It is a bore sometimes that there is always something to do.

But, they are all excuses and quite secondary to the fact that I have a strong desire to feel sensation. I'd gladly go over a lap or be bound or ...

Ohhhh, it just came to me. I know exactly what to do! Hang on a bit...

(Goes to bathroom and inserts anal plug)

Oh gooooodness, yes, that feels so much better. I feel lighter and brighter; ever so much more positive and ready to get on with the day. Literally, the fog has lifted in my head!

This morning in bed I read a good article about depression which you can read here -

The article talks of Prozac and serotonin and all that we have learned about the brain but it also talks about mood and emotion. There is a lot we can do to alter the thoughts in our head and thus alter our mood. An early morning walk; sunshine on our skin; listening to music we enjoy; thinking about what we can be grateful for; slowing down a bit and taking one moment at a time; being aware of our agitated state, noticing it but not allowing it to control us. This all helps.

But, nothing helps me quite like the containment of wearing an anal plug. I am not saying it will work for everyone, of course. My mind was trained to take enormous comfort in this ritual. Whether I am being told to do it or not, the comfort is indisputable. Call it 'use' or 'containment' or 'ritual' or what you will, it's a surefire way for me to feel at ease.

Friday, April 20, 2012

Dirty, dark fantasies

I've been doing a yoga breathing workshop all week that requires me to get up each morning at least 2 hours earlier than I normally do. Since I can't go to bed all that much earlier than I usually do, I am running on a deficit of about 10 hours sleep for the week.  It all must sound like torture but I've really wanted to do this and I have had some outstanding bursts of energy and clear thinking along the way. Today, I mentioned it to my regular yoga teacher and she said she did the breathing for 6 months and kept a journal. Apparently, after a few weeks into the breathing she couldn't bear the smell of alcohol or sugar. Her body was insisting on all things clean.

I can't say that sort of effect has kicked in with me, although I haven't even contemplated a glass of wine this week. However, that's not all that unusual for me and just now I have had a few blocks of dark chocolate, my first sugar for the week after an afternoon nap. I'm not entirely pure yet. Quite the contrary has occurred, I am sorry to say.

What I have noticed is that the sexual thoughts are running amuck; very intense, constant and with no end. I fell asleep thinking them and I awoke thinking them. Fundamentally, it is like a pornographic channel running in my head and nobody can find the controller to turn it off. I hesitate to talk about them and yet I feel a need to expunge them somewhat. If I can't talk about them here, then where? I rather doubt the ancient yogis would approve. I don't think this is the sort of benefits they had in mind at all but it is what it is, and here it is...

I'm in a big room. It's quite grand: think Eyes Wide Shut and that's about right. We've been blindfolded, about a dozen of us. We're naked. We've been told to kneel with our legs under us, so that we can pout our backsides and present our holes. (The word present is an extraordinary turn on for me always.)  Of course, our breasts (the men in charge call them our titties) flop on the wooden floor and we are told to hold our mouth cunts open, as if ready to be fucked. We form a circle and that means that when the man who is looking for a plaything  comes to see us, he can see all the holes easily. There are mirrors all over the walls, you see. There is  no place to hide.

The man we know is showing us off, much as a man might show off his horse to a potential owner,  talking up our good points, encouraging the stranger to notice various aspects of our bodies; broad hips here, a wide ass there, a particularly slutty hole there, and the unknown man is inspecting us closely. He looks more than touches the merchandise but he has stopped by me and is asking the man a question. He wants to know what size anal plug I am using at this time. The man goes to a cupboard and produces a plug of the relevant size and this seems to prompt him to want to inspect more closely.

I can feel his slightly cold hands on my buttocks. (As he requested, we've all been well warmed with a leather paddle so any slight coldness was going to be noticed by any of us.) Now, he's stretching my buttocks apart to look at the slutty hole, running his hands over and in my pussy cunt as well. Modesty would like me to be able to say that my pride is incensed by this but it just wouldn't be the truth. I am wet with anticipation of what this man may do to me should he choose me and the touch of his fingers is divine. I am virtually organismic already.

He makes his decision abruptly and within a moment I am hoisted onto a bench and told to rest in the same way as on the floor; kneeling with my legs under me and all holes accessible. Quickly and firmly I am tied to the bench so that any hope I might have of escaping is completely gone. (As if I would...)

The bench is the perfect height so that when the man releases his cock from his pants it can be easily and immediately placed at the entrance of my ass cunt. (The men use these words repeatedly.) As I feel his cock about to penetrate me he reminds me that I an nothing more than his play thing; his toy; just a hole. If this is meant to insult me or incense me, the ploy has backfired because I don't feel any disagreement in my mind. That is indeed what I am. I've been trained to know my purpose.

He enters me and I gasp with shock. He pulls out of me repeatedly only to thrust again and eventually he rhythmically fucks me, seemingly fucking deeper and deeper into my hole. With each thrust my mind and my body is disappearing into a space; a deep, dark hole of pleasure. The sensations are primal; earthy. I feel that my pussy cunt has expanded to be three times it size and from where the orgasms come it is hard to detect. Is it felt in the ass cunt or the pussy cunt or is the overwhelming pleasure coming from a place and a space so unidentifiable that I  no longer exist and have been carried away to some sort of orgasmic heavenly bliss?

My loud moans and groans are no longer wanted and it seems that the man riding me has asked the other man to fill my mouth cunt with his cock to keep me quiet. I accept the gift of his cock with lusty acceptance and I can only hope that this attention will go on and on; that they will not tire or desire to climax too soon.

Eventually, they must and do. I feel the cum filling my two holes and it fills me with satisfaction. This is, after all, the purpose of the two holes. (Here comes the squirmish part...) One of the men retrieve from the cupboard a jug and my ass cunt is milked of cum, leaving enough inside so that when they fill it with a large plug the rest of the cum will leak down my legs for the rest of the evening. (Our training has demanded that our holes are always scrupulously clean and now I understand why this is so.)

I am untied and made to sit on the hard, wooden stool and to place my hands behind my head. Of course, this leaves my breasts free to be tortured and nasty, tight nipple clips now bite at my nipples. It is just more containment for the plaything. It bites to be sure but there is pleasure in the pain; their devilment is her aphrodisiac. (I'm no longer an I. I'm just she at best; more like it, in fact.)

Just as she is about to pass out in a dreamy sort of head space that is unquantifiable they remove the clips. She screams and her mouth is immediately covered with a man's big hand until the desire to scream passes and she is passive; still. The stranger pats her on the head and tells that she has been a good fuck toy, a very pleasurable doll. She has done well. "Good doll," he coos.

This is enough for her. (Who, in fact, is using who here...?). She is returned to the circle and content in her child pose again, she drifts into a near slumber, eternally grateful that to day it was her turn to be used.

Wednesday, April 18, 2012

From a distance

I happened to catch a bit of Betty Midler's goodbye performance in Las Vegas. Apparently, she'd been doing a show there for three years. I enjoy several of the songs she has been singing over the past few years and none more so than  'From a Distance'. You can hear her singing this song here if you wish.

"God is watching us from a distance."

I have recently finished a memoir and must return it in a few days to a dear woman who loaned it to me. The book is titled 'The Rugmaker of Mazar-E- Sharif' by Najaf Mazari & Robert Hillman.

It is the story of an Afghan man who leaves Afghanistan in fear of his life. He has already been taken by the Taliban, beaten regularly until his declaration of ignorance in spite of the regular beatings lead the Taliban to believe that he is telling the truth and they let him go. Knowing that it is not the end of the matter, his friends and family gather together the money needed to get him over the border to Pakistan and onto a leaky, unseaworthy boat that is bound for Australia.

Of course, the boat doesn't make it all the way but they are rescued by Australian authorities and he is put into detention until it can be determined if his case is genuine and if he should be allowed to remain in Australia. I promise you that if you read the book you will never think about illegal aliens in the same way again.

Alas, I can't find the quote I wanted to share about Nareef and his relationship with God. However, at one point he thinks about his life and what he has managed to achieve - that he has worked hard to learn the art of carpet weaving and he thinks to himself that if God should look down on his people and he was scanning his eye and saw Nareef working hard he would something like, "Ah, there is Nareef. He has been a good man. He is working hard. I am pleased with the way he has turned out."

And, this pleases Nareef greatly that God should be pleased with him; that he has always done the right and honorable thing.

Nareef writes, "...all that God asks of us is persistence." and later,

"We can never be sure when God is listening. Sometimes we shout at the top of our voices, and He makes no reply at all. But a whisper? Sometimes a whisper works better than shouting."

I was moved countless times whilst reading this story but tears only rolled down my cheeks once. Perhaps the tears were from sheer relief. Finally, his ordeal was over and his life was complete.

By now, Nareef has been in Australia for some time and his joyous, sunny disposition, commitment and work ethic has attracted the assistance of several Australians who go well and truly out of their way to help him.

Here he is, finally, at Tullamarine Airport one early morning awaiting the arrival of his wife and daughter, getting more and more disturbed and worried as more and more people come out of the International gates and he still cannot see them. Maybe something has gone wrong, he worries. He has had enough setbacks in his life for this to be a genuine concern in his mind.

"Easy, mate, easy," his friend says to him.

And suddenly, there they are. He sees them.

"Blessings, blessings," he says as he rushes towards them.

And, that's when I began to cry. Who of us could not be moved by this?

But, it is not enough for Nazar to be grateful for his new life in Australia (and he has made a very good life here). He has set up a fund with friends to build schools and buy ambulances for the people of Mazar-e-Sharif so that they can share in  his good future.

From a distance, I think God is very proud indeed.

Tuesday, April 17, 2012


In light of the last post and comments I wanted to share some words that I found on Twitter a few weeks ago. I have been reading these words most days and I really think it is something to strive for - not to reject an emotion but not to allow it to alter the way you see the world. I suppose another way of saying that is to be aware of the emotion but not to let it take you over. I don't think that is an easy thing to do but with awareness of how one is feeling and how one's body is reacting, I think it is possible. Nirvana.

"Observing is experiencing without judgement or intent.
It is easy to feel great when you are living without anger. But what happens when anger enters the picture?
The spiritual path is not about keeping out the ‘negative’ things and cultivating the ‘positive’ things. The spiritual path is about ceasing to divide Existence one way or another. That is unity: no divisions, no boundaries.
It is okay to be angry so long as you are more Being than Anger. When your anger overtakes your awareness of Being, you lose consciousness to a degree. That is when you say things you regret, speak before thinking, and generate karma. Karma can only come for ignorance.
If you can empty yourself out, regardless of what emotion you feel, then you are perfectly fine. Keep emptying, keep meditating. If emotions are no trouble for you, and no source of ignorance, then keep on keeping on.
But if you feel the need to reject an emotion, then you will create problems for yourself. Then you will start avoiding all things that incite that emotion.
Observing your emotions as they come, and letting them come, means to allow yourself to feel however you are feeling.
Most people feel anger and have one of two reactions: they either wish to pass on that anger through some sort of punishment or blame on another person, or they wish to escape that anger.
A precious few people can feel anger, open themselves to the experience of it, without allowing that anger to spill over into their speech and perception of the world.
When you are angry, the world looks different. When you are sad, the world looks different. When you are ecstatic, the world looks different. Is it the world that is changing or you? What’s the difference? What’s the truth of the matter?
The answer doesn’t matter as much as the question. If the world is constantly shifting according to your mood, then what is the use of acting on your moods? They are evanescent and narrow your perspective.
When an emotion comes to you, if you can experience it without adopting the perspective of the emotion, then you will know a taste of freedom from samsara.
Samsara is a cycle of ignorant and mindless reaction. Nirvana is the spontaneity of Existence. They aren’t separate.
I hope this helped. :)

Monday, April 16, 2012

Temper, temper

So let's consider the realities. These are my realities; probably not your realities, but who knows?

I'm feisty. I have opinions. I don't desperately need to air them but I have them and no one is taking them away from me. Over time, I've learned to hold back when that seems "wise" and I've even been prepared to modify some of them to take into consideration the opinion of those other people around me. Embracing people's little foibles is the key and hopefully then they'll embrace mine.

I tend to give more than I take. I continue to work on setting boundaries; on asking people to do things for me.

I have a temper. God knows I have tried to control it. I have tried to have eternal patience. I have tried to stay silent. But, if I get upset, I can get very upset and I might say something I should not say; something that I didn't mean; something that I regret.

I want to clarify that. I might lose my temper with those very close to me. I don't lose my temper with people down the end of the phone, people driving cars or parking cars or anyone out there who does something I don't like. They don't get to me. But, people who mean something to me can make me cross. And, when I get cross, I do (or say) dumb things; things that I know once I have control of my temper and can see the light of day, I absolutely don't mean.

Here's another thing. I hate being in trouble. So, losing my temper leads to a lot of guilt, a lot of self-recrimination and a lot of "how could you be so bloody stupid again to...". It is me saying that to myself because I am just so very, very cross with myself that I still don't have control of that temper.

There was a little girl who had a little curl...

I have a submissive nature. I adore to be dominated. I long for it. I yearn for it. I dream about it. But, I'm a submissive woman with a temper. There, my dears, is my reality.

Sunday, April 15, 2012

Danger period

Yesterday morning, a spanking took place, not as any sort of correction, just because he chose to play with me. He took out his special piece of tied rope and he used it liberally not just on my ass but all over my back and hips and thighs. When he made his focus my ass after that, I could literally feel the juices fall down on the sheet.

He turned me over, told me to keep my hands above my head and began to work on the front. My breasts can be sensitive which is why, I think, he likes to do it - to bring the rope down across my breasts. I didn't and haven't told him that it causes a glow in my nipples, particularly the right nipple that I found incredibly arousing, at the same time as I associate some pain with the experience.

When I couldn't stop myself from trying to protect my poor nipples from time to time he brought the long rope, part of which had secured my wrists, around the bed so that I was firmly tied to a bed post. Now the rope could come down on my body where he chose and without my interference.

Unable to wait any longer (I think) he plundered into me and roughly fucked me.

This was all very satisfying on many levels.

However, I really didn't get the buzz from the experience that I had anticipated. The day after that was fine. I did my reading for my weekly assignment, we had a sandwich and a coffee at the club; I made a pasta for dinner and we watched 'The Iron Lady'. Nothing was wrong. Yet, nothing was particularly right either. It was odd.

This morning, he was his feisty self in bed - some comment about Thatcher being right and it wasn't about feelings, it was about thoughts. This was meant to be a line to put me in my place because I hadn't like the way he had responded to my genuine suggestion about why his foot was hurting. I took umbrage and got out of bed, suggesting as I went that Thatcher was alone towards the end of her life and maybe being nice was a better way to go!

We met shortly thereafter in the kitchen.

"Are you all better now?" he asked.

"I'm fine, thank you."

"It's so predictable. You get a bit roughed up and you want to assert yourself."

I just looked at him. It was so true. For reasons I don't understand, every now and again, what would normally be seen as a really good time, isn't. It is. But, my response to it isn't the usual response.

He doesn't really let it bother him. It's clear he's not really bothered. But, it is, as he likes to call it a "danger period" and I gather he feels that what's important is to keep me contained and be clear about the fact that he is in control. That seems to get us over this little bump.

That's true.

What he doesn't know is that since that event, my mind is on fire. The thoughts about how I'm treated in my fantasy life are especially more intense: a more whispy cane, a firmer strike, a louder scream; a bigger plug, a longer containment...a very dumdum l'il thing.

I've had the sort of training that doesn't fade away. It's very much a part of my mind processes now. It's just who I am and how I process. Pride (ego) will rear it's head occasionally, making it all the more important that the control is firm and my place on the bottom well secured.

Saturday, April 14, 2012

Plumbing equipment

Saturday morning. I've been alone in the house for a few hours. I've had my porridge and tea in bed. I've done a bit of laundry...put on the dishwasher. But, honestly, that's all that I have done that is productive. I've been mucking around reading smut and a few literary worthy articles on the Internet, having a gay old time really. The phone rings.

"What are you doing, girl?"

"I'm doing laundry."

"Are you doing your work?"

"Well, I've been sorting out the house so far..."

"You know we'll be out all day tomorrow. You need to settle down and do your work."

"Yes. I'll get onto it very soon. Where are you?"

"I'm out in ......... looking for a special plug.

My mind is foggy. Then,

"Ohhhhh, that sort of plumbing. I couldn't figure out what plumbing needs we had."

He chuckles.

"Your plumbing, girl. But, I'm not hanging around here. Nobody has come to open the shop. Probably some silly girl is still tied up and can't get here to open up."

"Yes, right. Well, your plumbing needs are one click one away, actually. These days, people order their plumbing needs from the Internet."

"Do they? And how do they know they have the right measurements?"

"They read the little blurb that tells them."

"Right. Well, I'll be home soon. You better be sitting at your desk when I arrive."


So here I am, having my last little bit of fun for the morning before I get right onto that film review.  Perhaps, there is a kinky film I could review. Any ideas are most welcome. Seen anything you like?

Thursday, April 12, 2012

A challenge

A man and woman meet for the first time. Perhaps, they meet in a bar. It could be some other place, but in my mind, they meet in a bar. From the minute their eyes lock, he wants to control her. Why her and not some other chick in the bar? Who knows? He's working on gut instinct, I imagine, that she's hungry and that she'll respond to his positive advances. Well, maybe she won't respond right away but she'll respond.

He has to act fast. His time in the bar with her is limited and he needs to make an impression. He wants to draw a reaction from her that doesn't necessarily have to be positive. It just has to make her feel that she wants something from him. She needs to feel that he has something that she wants and in order to get it, she has to play his game.

This really isn't about trust at this point, is it? It's not about respect, or love, or affection. This is about an animal instinct to be found in both of them: that he is the aggressor and she is his prey. And, for this particular woman she wants to be his prey, but what's important here is that she does nothing to give that impression. Deep down she knows what she wants. Even closer to the surface of her psyche she knows that a very special game may have just begun and she's not missing it for the world.

Yet, it's important to be cool here. To be captured too soon is to suggest that she's an easy mark and she knows better than that. He looks the sort that will enjoy hunting her as much as she'll enjoy being hunted. Well, she hopes she will enjoy it.

He's a brazen lad, this one; full of hutzpah and she's half a mind to walk out on him. The gall! The temerity of him! One side of the brain says to take her dignity and go, the other half says to give him some more rope so that he can hang himself.

Secretly, she hopes he's got more in his bag of tricks than she has in hers. She's been waiting for a man like this for a very long time.

Their eyes lock. He makes a particularly audacious remark. She wants to look away but she doesn't want him to think he outwitted her. She can feel her anger rising. She can feel her desire mounting.

What happens next?

Wednesday, April 11, 2012

For my Scottsh warrior

Darling, Owner,

Dylan Thomas is the man you can thank for these words that have such a special place in your heart. How well they suit you. It was a Welsh man, after all, that touched your heart, just as you touched a Welsh girl's heart well over 30 years ago. Neither of us will go gently into that good night, but together we shall "rage, rage against the dying of the light". My love. Always.



Do not go gentle into that good night,
Old age should burn and rage at close of day;
Rage, rage against the dying of the light. Though wise men at their end know dark is right,
Because their words had forked no lightning they
Do not go gentle into that good night.
Good men, the last wave by, crying how bright
Their frail deeds might have danced in a green bay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.
Wild men who caught and sang the sun in flight,
And learn, too late, they grieved it on its way,
Do not go gentle into that good night.
Grave men, near death, who see with blinding sight
Blind eyes could blaze like meteors and be gay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.
And you, my father, there on the sad height,
Curse, bless me now with your fierce tears, I pray.
Do not go gentle into that good night.
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

Tuesday, April 10, 2012


Our life here couldn’t be more different than our life in the city. We bought this little house about 10 years ago on the spur of the moment and it turned out to be a great decision. My husband had noticed the ‘For Sale’ sign from the water and he rang to make a time to see the property that afternoon.

In fact, we were the first people to see through the house since the sign went up. The real estate agent followed us around like a hawk and it was only when we were alone for a few seconds in the small bathroom that my husband whispered, “I don’t think so.” 

It was true that the house was a ‘gooby’, our word for a place lacking in style. But, in my mind the property had a lot going for it. There was a pier at the end of the garden for his old boat. The price was cheap. And, the house could be fixed up over time.

“I think it could be renovated easily,” I whispered back.


We said our goodbyes and began the journey home to the city, all the time talking about aspects of the property. Eventually, my husband said that in the next few days he might make an offer.

“I reckon do it right now,” I said.

“Why?” he wanted to know.

“I have the feeling you could get them to make a decision immediately. They’ve bought another house and the summer season is over. I reckon it’s worth a try.”

My husband mulled the idea over for several minutes, picked up the phone and rang the agent. He wanted to make an offer, he said, that lasted for the next one hour. There were a few calls back and forth but long before we reached the city we had a holiday home that overlooked a lake.

We’ve worked tirelessly on the property. Early on, we had a man come and put in wooden floors in all areas except those we would one day expand to make for a bigger room and a bigger balcony. We shed the windows of curtains we didn’t like, painted the entire house inside and removed many huge trees that crowded us in and blocked our view of the lake. I think we’ll always have a project because that’s a lot of what we do here, work to make it how we want.

When I am down here (in Australia, we always talk of being down on the farm) there is usually plenty of time to spare as well. That is the whole idea of being here – to live in a way we can’t in the city. We rarely use the dishwasher, unless we have a fair number of people to stay. I don’t use the Internet hardly at all. Instead, I read. This is an enormous pleasure and indulgence for me. I have just finished reading a novel in less than a week and I simply adored wasting away the mornings lying in bed.

For those of you who think you have my husband all pegged out, the dynamics of the relationship alter here. He often brings me food as I lay in bed all morning reading and writing. He goes out and chops the wood and keeps the fire stoked and he always likes to fill his trailer very high with his cuttings from the garden and take them off to the tip (dump?).

We lead a rather farm style life here where the happenings of the world seem removed from us and life boils down to the bare necessities – good, plain food; wood for the fire; clothes dried on the line and newspapers, books and the odd movie to entertain us.

When the time comes to pack up and return to life, we feel a bit as if we are being dragged by the coat tails back into society – back to routines and busy days; appointments, school runs; committees; corporate boards and world markets. We go reluctantly.

As I sit here, all I can hear is the movement of the clock, a slight whir of the refrigerator, the wind in the trees, the singing of birds and the clicking of my French manicured nails on the keyboard. There’s plenty of time to think; to daydream; to put events in their perspective. It is in these quiet moments that I reflect on the dual passions of my life: the desire to enrich my mind and my soul with fascinating people, words and ideas, as well as the desire to still my mind and let it all pass me by. I am at heart an introvert and life here suits me very well, until I hunger for more stimulation and then, it is time to move on again.

Monday, April 9, 2012


The top of a relationship needs to think about what corrective/disciplinary measures he might take with his girl (or boy). It's inevitable that situations will crop up and he's going to want to have thought out what he plans to do about that. It seems clear that there are a wide range of measures available to him. He might want to just talk to her in a clear, concise way that whatever she did, he doesn't want her to do it again. Perhaps this measure is adequate. Some tops raise their voice (Oh come on, you know you do!) and that's not at all pleasant. I know it often stops me in my tracks because I don't want to spin that situation any further out than it already is. I don't like him being cross with me at all.

There are so many measures a top could take that it’s hard to know where to go from here. Of course, he might want to provide some corporal discipline; not the type she likes, but the type she doesn't like. If he isn't at all happy and she knows that, there's an atmosphere that goes with that that is entirely corrective. I get spanked (or whatever) as a correction but not when he's angry, thank goodness.

Growling at her; giving her a good telling off; a lecture; giving her a last warning before you turn her over your knee is usually more than enough, in my opinion. Your angry face or your angry words will have her whistling another tune quick smart. And, that's the whole idea, right?

He might ask her to write lines. I've been asked to do that but it was soon determined that I didn't find that a punishment. I enjoy writing lines. It's the sort of humiliating punishment that goes straight to my fantasies. Interestingly, once a top knows that you enjoy a punishment, he stops issuing it. I can't imagine why this is so...

There's corner time and I do hate this but fortunately it's not used, except on some very random occasions. It was used when I didn't have control of my responses and wouldn't be silent when I was told to be silent.

A top could use the strategy of taking a girl’s words away for a time. This is also fantasy material but I think it is a very useful measure to use when a girl just needs to settle herself down for a time. When used, say, for a day it goes beyond corrective and can lead to a deep peace, if all goes well.

Some tops prefer to put a girl under a cold shower for a minute or two, to restrain them in some way...The list goes on. I'm aware that some girls are put into chastity belts, corsets, made to wear an anal plug that is too small, rather big; perhaps coated in shampoo rather than lube. All of these measures can be corrective and at the same time, pleasurable. I don't deny that it can be tough to correct a girl when her perversions/fantasies can mean that she attains some pleasure in these directives.

I return to the thought that being in trouble is really the issue. The bottom doesn't want to be in trouble; to be in the bad books and that's really the correction; that he is not happy with you. It's a very vulnerable feeling; that the world isn't spinning around in a correct fashion.

I'm familiar with the technique of being dismissed when my behaviour has been thought to be wanting. "Leave the room," I will be told. "I don't wish your presence right now." "cindi can go away and think about that!". Or, simply silence.  I've never enjoyed that. I find it completely horrible. Most of the time, I'm given an opportunity fairly quickly to redeem myself. It might relate to my owner wanting an apology and when I am ready to apologize, he's ready to receive it and all is well.

My training with a mentor has found itself in this neck of the woods and whilst the words seem tame "talk wif da bimbo l8r", they are not. I know what they mean. I know that I didn't impress and that time is being 'granted' to think about that and decide if I want to pursue that line of action, or do things according to the D/s statutes. Since I hate the kind of silence that comes as a form of correction, I do what I need to do to return to good grace.

When dismissal lasts for a few hours or even a few days, I don't think any harm is done. It's a very effective way of telling a girl that she has crossed the line and I accept that sort of consequence. I don't need long to determine that I don't care at all for this outcome and I am happy to sort matters out to the satisfaction of the top. I'm very much a girl that wants to stay in the good books.

Having said that, I must say that ‘dismissal’ used over a period of years has led me to a place where I find uncertainty as to my status (good or bad books?) and silence without an understanding as to why there is silence, extremely upsetting. So upset did I become the last time I felt placed in this quandary that I determined an ending of the relationship was better than enduring this emotional pain.

That's a highly emotional reaction, I know, and not the best one at that. But, I distinctly recall at the time I had that feeling that I simply could endure it not a minute longer.  Perhaps, I had found my 'limit'; that measure or behaviour that I refused to and could not endure. I may have been wrong (was wrong) as to intention. I may have been (was wrong) to not have adequate trust. Yet, at the time, a long silence without full understanding as to whether this was corrective or simply entirely unavoidable was too much to bear.

This is the point I want to make loud and clear to any tops out there reading. If you determine that you must remove yourself from your submissive for some reason, it needs to be absolutely clear why your removal is occurring. Perhaps the silence has nothing to do with her. So, tell her. She needs to know if this is a correction, or not. What did she do wrong and what do you want her to think about while silence reigns? How long is this likely to take, do you think? If you want her to learn a lesson, go for it. But, be aware that she will suffer and how much emotional suffering do you want her to endure? There is a limit as to what the human heart can take.

All bottoms need to feel a connection to their tops. Even if the relationship is not romantic, even if it is a teacher/student relationship, for example, we submissive types must feel that we have pleased. When we know we haven't pleased, all we want to do is to make up for that. Silence is okay for a short burst of 'pull yourself together!' therapy but not okay for long bursts. She'll be tormented. When you decide to end her agony, you can't be sure you haven't broken her spirit; her heart.

I’m not blind to the fact that a connection can be so strong it can bear almost anything. It can be ripped apart and regrow. It can endure even after death. The human heart is very strong. Trust is a prerequisite for this sort of life as is forgiveness. Where there is a will, there is a way, but why take the risk?

Sunday, April 8, 2012

Expressing upset

In a marriage or committed relationship, there are going to be times when one person is feeling down and the other person picks them up. The tables will be reversed constantly and there is an understanding that one person will be strong when the other is feeling weak. In a power exchange relationship the situation is no different. Just because one is the leader of the arrangement doesn't mean that he or she is going to always feel strong; confident; able; well.

Yet, those times when the dominant is not feeling himself are hard on the submissive. I don't think there is any doubt about that. We do tend to rely on the dominant for a source of energy. We come to depend on that in the same way that the dominant anticipates that the submissive will always be her sweet submissive self. Life isn't quite that perfect. I have said many times that I am happiest when we are both operating 'in the zone'. I love to feel the dominance and he loves to feel my submission to him. This is the optimum arrangement; the perfect day.

However, I am well aware that it is very important for all people to take responsibility for their own emotions as well as to set limits for their emotional well being. Of course, some power dynamic relationships have aspects of  Narcissist/ co-dependent about them. One partner may need the others approval and attention to feel good about him or herself whilst the other partner is inclined to enjoy admiration and being in complete control.

All is well in a relationship where these two components of personality are in play until something gives. Perhaps, the partner with control withdraws attention, for whatever reason. For the co-dependent, this state of play will lead to a sense of withdrawal: depression, anxiety and mental pain. Time lapses and the narcissistic partner gives a 'shot'  of attention and the co-dependent partner feels better again, only to feel worse the next time it happens. A vicious cycle is suddenly in place that leads to emotional torment.

In a situation like this, I am not at all sure that it is a good idea to think of one person as the bad guy and one person as the victim. I think what is important is that the vicious cycle is broken. This is going to take the hard work of both people involved. There is no easy fix here. Realistically, I think you have to start with yourself. I think you have to open your eyes to your own involvement in this unhealthy  dynamic.

For many people with a submissive nature it goes against the grain to set limits as to what they will accept of their partner, but healthy people in healthy relationships do have limits. I don't mean that they won't do something that is, in their estimation, unacceptable such as...I don't with animals.... I mean that they won't tolerate this or that manipulative behavior from their partner.. They won't allow their partner to manipulate them full stop.

People with submissive natures are inclined to give in; to be soft; to want to please; to humor the other person and to agree, even if they don't really agree at all.

In a power exchange relationship it is very important to know within yourself what is acceptable to you and what is unacceptable and to voice those issues when they occur. The other person may not like that but it is important for both members of the relationship not to allow an unhealthy relationship to evolve. It is entirely appropriate and healthy for the bottom of the relationship to express her concerns, her disagreement and the fact that something that the top is doing is unacceptable to her. It is important to do this in optimal ways, of course. That's key. But, the bottom line is that it must be done.

It is about checks and balances and sometimes the bottom is going to need the top to settle down and contemplate his own behavior for a time, rather than hers. Respect is a mutual thing in a power exchange relationship and if she is deeply upset and unsettled, she is probably upset for good reason. Mutual respect and open communication should allow a relationship to grow.

No-one likes to make mistakes. No-one wants to feel shame or guilt. We all want to be admired and loved. We can all be inclined to be self-centered or to lack empathy for the other person. It makes sense therefore that the more we check in with one another about conduct unbecoming, the better off we all will be.

The power exchange relationship is the perfect place to put this into action. I see the power exchange dynamic as a fluid thing; two people working well together to make the perfect whole. Perfection won't happen unless the submissive sees it as her duty to take some responsibility to see that the relationship remains in a good state of health. She is responsible for her own mental health and also for speaking up when she believes it important to do so. The wise top will (eventually) understand that her intentions are entirely honorable and appropriate.

Friday, April 6, 2012

A Disciplined Girl

We are at the holiday house and it is our first morning here. We usually end up arriving very late at night and when we finally awoke after a long and deep sleep my owner asked me what I should do.

“Hug,” I responded.

“That’s second,” he replied.

“Kiss,” I guessed again (knowing, of course, that was the wrong answer too).

“That’s third. What should you do first, cindi?”

“Suck owner’s cocki,” I told him. (It doesn’t pay to stretch this game out too far.)

“Then why isn’t cindi doing that?”

cindi obliged.

“What is up on the shelf in the dressing room, cindi?”

I took my mouth away from his upright cock long enough to say,

“Da thin, nasty cane.”

And, that’s when my thoughts returned to a time I don’t think I have written about in any detail in this journal.

I was rather green to this notion of a disciplined life but already incredibly enraptured. I was spending far too much time reading about girls getting caned for this and that and I was in a whole other space in my head. I think it frightened owner a bit at the time. He wasn’t sure what to make of my intense desires, I think, and one day when I was telling him about some girl that had apparently had a caning every day for a week, he responded in a way that still gives me goose bumps when I think about it.

“Well, if it is good enough for her, then it is good enough for you. If you want to play in this space, then you need to show your commitment.”

“What do you mean?” I asked

“Why shouldn’t you have a dozen of the cane for a week? You think you can talk the talk but if you are genuine you need to walk the walk.”

This was a dare, a very scary dare and one I intended to take; not that he gave me any choice. He was as serious with me as he has ever been. I’d need to present each evening for correction and that was that.

I spent that week in a sort of suspended animation. I think we were both on such a euphoric high that we didn’t take into account that the children may well have heard some things. Certainly, I tried to contain my squeals but that week was in the days before I knew too much (if anything) about gags. I imagine I bit on my hand and fingers. I know I tried to use a huge amount of self-control to contain the pain.

We were here, at the holiday house the whole time. I don’t remember everything but I do remember that I counted that there would be 84 (I’d say it was more like 90 in fact because there was extras when I came out of position) strokes. Each day when I had received the 12 (or more) strokes, I’d deduct it from the total. That’s the way I got through it mentally, although I remember when the very last stroke came down it was such an anti-climax, because by then I had become rather used to the daily correction. I was certainly relieved and proud to have attained the goal of obedience but what about tomorrow? What would life be like tomorrow, without the cane?

The mornings were the easiest. I’d realize that I had a stretch of hours ahead of me before needing to bend over the end of the bed (or sometimes on all fours on the bed tied up, if he felt like being particularly sadistic). I’d have a lightness of being until mid-afternoon when the approaching hours would hang over me. It bears keeping in mind that once a light skinned bottom has been marked and bruised, the following strokes only add to the art work in ways that make sitting tender and the psyche a bit fraught.

Yet, I simply adored the marks and bruises criss-crossing by buttocks and when I swivelled my head to study them, I felt a joy and sense of pride and pleasure that can’t be properly described. I know at times owner worried about it. I don’t think he had any idea how the marks would endure and although he had no intention of not going ahead with the decree, I could see on his face some concern at the state of my backside. I tried to assure him my backside would be all right and he settled. In fact, I think he took some pleasure in the notion that as I sat in the old boat I was sitting on a very tender bottom that was given by his hand, so to speak. I found it delicious.

There is so much that I have forgotten because my head was mush that week. I cooked and shopped for food and did all the ordinary things I do on holiday here but in my head, I was living the life of a disciplined girl and all that really mattered to me was that I was finally living authentically. I was living out my dreams and fantasies.

I do recall that at some point he needed to return to the city and when he told me I had a sense of relief. I would have one night off being caned. In fact, the lack of the caning that evening played on my mind. If he’d been there, another 12 strokes would have been over already. When he returned, I told him about that feeling and he offered to give me 24 strokes that evening so that I could “catch up”.  I suggested we try 18 and when they were given, he simply told me he was carrying on to 24.

I remember crying but no tears came. My hands were tied. I was on my fours on the bed and although it hurt like hell it never occurred to me to break position, to ask for leniency or anything else. He was in complete control and I simply responded to his words. He told me to stay still in a firm, authoritative voice, and so I did.

Afterwards, he rubbed his hand over my stinging backside softly, cooed and calmed me and put me to bed. I was in a state of wonder. Why had I not known about this life before this? How could we have wasted all those years?

He’s caned me in the garage; in the Gardens in town; in the bedroom; in the bathroom; in the hall way of a house we were renovating with a piece of fresh cane from the garden. He has walloped me with paddles, a ping pong bat, a rolled up newspaper, a horse whip, a wooden spoon, a hair brush; a flat piece of wood, rope, a tawse and I have probably forgotten a few others along the way. If I’m cheeky on the street, he doesn’t hesitate to give my bottom a few smacks.

I adore the sensations, of course. I love to feel that I have no control. I love the challenge. I love to feel in my place. I want to know that I am owned. I simply adore what it does to my state of mind. Almost instantly, my mind is relieved of thoughts. I bunker down into a state of acceptance. Perfect peace is granted to me.

On my luckiest days, I am plugged and tied tight; put to bed with a kiss and told to go straight to sleep. I sleep the sleep of the angels and when I awake, I consider myself the luckiest girl in the world. On these days, I have everything I could ever want.